


big boots and bumbling idiots

by edelscribe



Category: Original Work
Genre: Animal Transformation, Familiars, Potions, Spells & Enchantments, Witchcraft, Witches
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-16
Updated: 2020-10-16
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:22:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27047179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/edelscribe/pseuds/edelscribe
Summary: ly lahishort stories from the witch au
Comments: 1
Kudos: 3





	big boots and bumbling idiots

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Captain_Solsikke](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Captain_Solsikke/gifts).



> drabbles about day to day life

“You’re pulling that face again,” said the cat. Well, if said was the right word. It didn’t seem to have spoken, and yet the witch looked up from their book. 

“It’s not my fault. The words are being horrible to me.” The witch protested.

The cat sighed, if again, cats could sigh, and moved from its perch on an inside-out cardigan to balance rather precariously on the arm of the chair. “Which part?”

Tilting the book towards the cat, the witch grumbled, “All of it. Too many words to say one thing. I like simple words that sum things up. Like hot. And cold.”

“And parcel.” The cat said thoughtfully, being decidedly unhelpful as it climbed down into the witches lap, and as a result, directly onto the book. If it noticed it didn’t show it, curling up for a nap right there/

“And parcel.” The witch agreed with a longing sigh. “Maybe you’re right. Nap time.”

-

The cat wasn’t a cat today, sitting up on the worn wooden counter and swinging its legs. It might have had a tail under its long skirt, but it definitely had awkwardly large ears which were pressed back against its head.

“That smells /wrong/.” The cat observed, holding a book in its lap, and looking down at what might have been a list of ingredients.

The witch stomped one of the boots. Or maybe one of the boots stomped the witch. “You’re so helpful.” The witch replied sarcastically, leaning over an exceptionally large cauldron.

The cauldron was sturdy and black, seated on splayed legs over a low fire, and spouting thick, acrid, purple smoke, that smelt like burnt beetroot, and tasted like yeast. Maybe. “Just tell me what I can put into it to make it smell right, gato de mierda! So mean to me…”

“Fine! Fine. You want the orange root,” the cat sighed after scrunching up its nose at the name. “No! The orange one, not the one from the orange tree.. colour!” 

After a little fumbling, the correct root was thrown into the pot and the smoke immediately seemed to clear, the surface of the cauldron looking no more aggressive than a mug of tea. 

“Epic…” Mumbled the witch.

“Yes, well,” said the cat, looking rather smug, “so now will you tell me why you wanted a shrinking potion?”

The witch grinned. “For you!”

-

THUMP. THUMP.

CRASH.

“Hey!” said a pile of blankets, “I’m sleeping!”

“It’s mid-afternoon!” Came a reply, or perhaps it didn’t. It sounded more like a yowl.

The pile of blankets shifted, and the top of a pointy hat poked out, followed by more hat, and more hat, and then a pair of squinted, dark eyes. “Precisely.” Grumbled a mouth, presumably hidden beneath the blankets still, but disembodied voices seemed to happen a lot around here.

The cause of the destruction soon came into view in the form of heavy black boots, with thick soles and a sagging tongue like a panting dog. They were black and sturdy and meant for walking- definitely not made for dragging around a big fluffy feather.

The cat arrived promptly after in a series of skittering sounds, before whizzing out of sight again around the corner like a very fluffy firework. “Give me! Give me!” It yowled again.

The witch sighed and weakly threw a cushion at the empty doorway. “My poor little brain.”

-

“We’re lost.” Declared the witch glumly.

“No, we aren’t.” Replied the cat, lifting up its skirt to hop over a quietly babbling brook. “The boots know the way home.”

The witch kicked a rock into the water with a ‘plop’. “But we’ve been walking for ages.. can’t we rest?”

“You’re the one who demanded we find a new flower today! If we don’t get home soon the pot will burn and you’ll be having bread and cheese for dinner.”

“I like bread and cheese,” grumbled the witch mutinously.

“Yes, but you like guiso even more, and you won’t be having it if it’s burnt.”

The witch wailed in despair, stumbling along again seemingly at the insistence of the boots, feet walking awkwardly and too aggressively onto the ground. 

The cat snickered into its hand, swiping at the bell drooping on the tip of the witch’s hat. “Even the boots want guiso, so keep walking, little worm.”


End file.
